Pathway to Japanese Literature

When Tsuneo was four years old, his father died, and he was raised as an only child in a household consisting solely of his grandparents and mother.
And during the time when he could receive sweet candies from Grandfather, listen to old fairy tales and ghost stories from Grandmother, and twist Mother’s nipple with his fingertips, he hadn’t particularly minded anything; but upon advancing from elementary to middle school—as those things gradually ceased, as one or two pimples appeared on his face, and as he began indulging in self-centered daydreams—the absence of brothers or sisters came to be contemplated with a sweet melancholy.

The fact that he had neither brothers nor sisters and was all alone meant freedom and expansiveness, yet at the same time felt flat and unreliable. With a heart too spacious yet unfulfilled, whenever he gazed vacantly at the moon or snow or blossoms, there would emerge—from deep within the reality of his only-child existence, from that dim beyond where facts lost their grip—the hazy silhouette of someone sharing his blood. Sometimes it was an elder brother who would guide him firmly. Sometimes a younger brother who playfully clung to him. Sometimes an elder sister offering gentle solace. Sometimes a younger sister regarding him with sincere trust and admiration. They were always beautiful... yet their faces stubbornly refused to come into focus no matter how he strained. More than mere beauty—he longed to fully grasp their features. But as he piled mental effort upon effort, everything blurred: whether these siblings belonged to his past, existed now, might come in the future, or were merely dream figments. In the end, all clarity dissolved into mist.

"What a foolish fantasy," Tsuneo would think upon snapping out of these reveries, casting them from his mind—yet still he periodically found himself slipping back into that haze. The nebulous realm beyond facts nestled persistently in his heart.

Yet when this figment manifested not as mere fancy but concrete reality, he burned copious incense before his father's mortuary tablet in astonishment.

It was the day of his father's thirteenth memorial service. Around ten that morning, all family members and close relatives had gone to the temple, completed Buddhist rites and grave visits, and were preparing to adjourn to a restaurant when Grandmother—unwell for days—complained of chills and demanded immediate return home.

As Mother moved to accompany her, Tsuneo—who'd felt stifled amidst his austere grandfather and uncles—insisted on substituting, dreading the tedium of formal dining with elders. With two women among the adult guests requiring hostess duties from Mother by circumstance, Tsuneo consequently escorted Grandmother home.

What for Tsuneo had been a selfish whim seemed to have brought Grandmother immense joy. Despite the unseasonably warm early spring day with its gaping warmth, Grandmother had the kotatsu heated and wanted Tsuneo to use it as well. And as Tsuneo—half out of obligation—inserted only the tips of his feet into the kotatsu quilt, lying prone on the tatami while skimming through a magazine novel, Grandmother watched him with a sentimental gaze and began speaking in a reminiscent tone. However, Tsuneo felt no interest in Grandmother’s words. Whether Grandmother tried to arrange a meeting during Father’s thirteenth memorial service, whether reflecting on the past felt like a dream, whether being alive like this was something to be grateful for—none of that mattered to him.

“What time do you suppose it will be?” Grandmother inquired.

Tsuneo didn't care what time it was.

“Mother and the others should be here soon.”

In the tone of those words, Tsuneo sensed that Grandmother was pitying him.
At the same time, he noticed that within himself there was also a feeling of pity for Grandmother.
Somehow startled, he widened his eyes and turned his head to look, only to find Grandmother’s eyes seemed more moist than usual.

“If only we could have let that child come today… No matter how much I pleaded, Grandfather just kept insisting on being stubborn…”

“Huh? Grandfather…?”

“That too, you see, is perfectly reasonable from a logical standpoint. Even if the bloodline may be what it is, once they’ve properly become another family’s child, going out of one’s way to summon them and dredge up the past isn’t good—it only makes both sides feel worse—so he insists… Moreover, since it’s been thirteen—no, fifteen or sixteen years now—I thought there wouldn’t be any particular harm… And as for you, surely having a brother openly would be far more reassuring than being all alone… But Grandfather dismisses such ideas as mere selfishness and absolutely refuses to listen.”

Tsuneo sat up and turned to face Grandmother.

“What are you talking about, Grandmother?”
Grandmother blinked her eyes rapidly.
“You still don’t know anything?”
“What…?”

“Didn’t your mother tell you anything?”

Tsuneo didn’t answer, keeping his gaze fixed on Grandmother’s face. As he watched, understanding began to dawn. “So I do have a sibling, Grandmother. The things I dreamed about and vaguely imagined were real after all. Hey—are they an older brother? A younger brother? A sister...? And where are they?”

Grandmother suddenly seemed discouraged and tried to avoid the conversation.
However, Tsuneo would not accept this.
He pressed Grandmother with increasing intensity as he questioned her, even going so far as to say that if she didn’t clearly tell him about it, then she didn’t love him.
Then Grandmother, having first secured his promise not to tell anyone, told him roughly the following.

Tsuneo’s father and mother had been unable to have a child for five or six years after their marriage.
Then suddenly, Tsuneo was born.
It was a tremendous joy.
Grandfather would sit by the baby’s side almost all day long and berate the maids.
But unfortunately, from around that time, Father contracted lung disease.
They tried relocation therapy in various places, but it did not cure him.
He wasn't bedridden, but the constant fever and cough never left him, making him extremely irritable.
Looking after Father became too much for Mother alone while she was holding the baby.
And by the side of the irritable Father, there was one maid who worked with utmost devotion.
The maid became pregnant.
Grandfather flew into the worst rage.
That was settled well through Grandmother’s efforts.
The maid took her unborn child and some money and went to marry into someone’s household.
And the child that was born was a boy, but he was raised entirely as their own.
When Father died, he had only just briefly come and had already become a complete stranger.
Now that family ran a paper shop in Ōtsuka, had two or three other children, and lived relatively comfortably.
The child who was Tsuneo’s brother was named Shigeo Onoda and attended Toyoyama Middle School.

“Is it true, Grandmother?” Tsuneo cried out.
“How do you know all this so well, Grandmother?”
“We can’t acknowledge them openly, but through go-betweens we’ve been tending to their needs in secret. That’s how I know their situation inside out.”

Before those words had finished, Tsuneo abruptly stood up and ran to his room.
He wrote down his younger brother’s name and address—still lingering in his ears—in his notebook.
Then, affecting sudden maturity, he returned to Grandmother.

“Grandmother, you want to meet my brother, don’t you?”

When no answer came, he looked closely to find Grandmother had buried her face in the kotatsu, tears spilling from her eyes.
What was making her sad? Tsuneo wondered briefly, but he couldn’t understand.
Even so, Grandmother’s tears felt like something sacred that must not be touched.
A twinge in his chest, feeling at a loss, he stepped out onto the veranda.
The sunlight, slanting westward, bathed the entire area in bright light.
The sky was blue and absurdly high.
He suppressed the urge to leap about there and began to imagine his brother’s face.

A light cough sounded.
When he turned to look, Grandmother had placed her hand on her left shoulder and was massaging it.

“I’ll massage it for you.”

And then he cheerfully sat down behind Grandmother and, while gazing at her thin neck and reddish hair as if seeing them for the first time, began rapidly tapping her shoulders with his fingertips, so fast it was almost dazzling.

It was a quiet evening.
With the feast prepared in anticipation of guests and the delicacies brought from the restaurant, Tsuneo was completely full, his forehead glistening with a light sweat.

Grandfather still sat formally upright before the dining table, sipping his sake little by little.
Mother was heating sake in the copper kettle of the long brazier.
Grandmother had the kotatsu brought in and, while warming herself by it, was leaning against an armrest.
And among everyone, there were more topics than usual—things like the memorial service and rumors about relatives.
The electric lights were brighter than usual.

Tsuneo gazed around curiously at those scenes. The sight of Grandfather—who remained sitting without relaxing his knees and kept contentedly raising his cup—somehow seemed foolish. From her facial expressions to her manner of speaking, Grandmother appeared to be anxiously considerate in every direction, which struck him as vaguely frustrating. While wearing a kind, gentle smile, Mother sat so firmly settled that she wouldn’t budge even if pushed, her demeanor seeming strangely foolish to him. When he imagined suddenly bringing his brother into the midst of all this... he found himself feeling oddly amused and absurd.

“Tsuneo,” Grandfather suddenly called out, “what are you laughing at all by yourself? Come here. I’ll let you have a special drink today.”

Tsuneo hesitated for a moment but resolutely approached Grandfather and drank about three cups in quick succession for him.
Grandfather hunched his neck and made an exaggerated face.

“Well, well... As expected of your father’s son, you can hold your liquor quite well."
“But… that’s enough.”
“That’s just the right amount.”

Seizing the moment when Grandfather took his cup away, Tsuneo suddenly stood up and went to the Buddhist altar in the next room, where he began burning incense fervently.
Through the incense smoke, Father’s spirit seemed to be laughing.
Then he started entertaining this absurd notion—not just a younger brother but older brothers and sisters too—that Father might have fathered countless siblings everywhere, until he grew flustered at his own imaginings.

“Tsuneo-san, what are you doing making all this smoke?”

At Mother’s voice, Tsuneo returned to his senses and, after thinking briefly, answered.

“I haven’t offered incense much before, so I thought I’d burn all the accumulated amount at once, and so…”

“That’s dangerous with fire,” Mother said.
Grandfather set his cup down and tilted his head slightly.
But more than anything, the profoundly sorrowful look that had surfaced in Grandmother’s eyes struck Tsuneo’s heart with great force.

And because that impression lingered in his heart long after, even when Tsuneo was alone with his mother, he found himself unable to ask about his brother. He only inquired exhaustively about the details of Father’s final moments.

However, Mother’s account consisted mostly of mundane things Tsuneo had already heard or knew—the progression of Father’s illness, how his lost appetite had briefly returned thanks to sweet sake, his relatively clear consciousness until the end, the severe coughing with almost no hemoptysis, his fondness for having kōdan books read to him, and the minimal agony during his final moments. Not a word came up about the brother or the brother’s mother. And no matter how many times he heard it, there was just one thing that always struck him.

Four or five hours before drawing his last breath, Father had Tsuneo brought to his bedside and firmly held his small hand for a little over five minutes.

All the while, the child was grimacing and seemed to be desperately holding back.

“I really didn’t start crying?” Tsuneo asked.

“No, you grimaced and held back.”
“You furrowed your brows into a figure eight, twisted your mouth, and made a strange face—but even then you didn’t cry.”
“Father reached his hand out from the futon, grasped yours, and kept his eyes tightly shut. After about five minutes—no, maybe longer—he suddenly started coughing violently and gestured through the coughs for us to take you away.”
“He always said we mustn’t let the illness reach the child—he must have been worrying about that.”
“Then when the coughing eased and he saw you still there, he scolded loudly—‘Why haven’t you taken him away yet?’”
“So I carried you to the other room. Four or five hours later, Father was gone.”
“When I brought you back in my arms, he no longer seemed aware of anything.”

“At that time... no, the time before that—Father was holding my hand and staring at my face, wasn’t he?”

“No, he had his eyes closed—I even thought he might have fallen asleep like that.”

Even so, Tsuneo still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.

He had almost no memory of his father’s death, yet one single scene clung stubbornly deep in his mind.
Father’s absurdly large, hard, powerful hand had been clutching his own hand tightly, and Father’s sunken, sharp eyes had been staring fixedly at his face—he had indeed been staring.
And that hand and those eyes were trying to drag him somewhere—some eerie place—so he desperately resisted, gritting his teeth.
In the midst of this struggle, he found himself freed from everything and felt relieved.
That was all it was, but those feelings of desperately resisting and of being released with relief were ultimately also his feelings toward Father’s death as a whole.

Tsuneo gazed intently at that feeling.
An itch of restlessness welled up in his chest, making him want to throw himself at Mother.
But Mother wore a composed, good-natured smile as she watched the flickering lamplight of the Buddhist altar.

Is this my real mother... The thought suddenly crossed his mind, and Tsuneo rubbed his eyes in circles.

“Mother, around what time was I born?”

Mother had a look as though seeing something far away.

“Around five in the morning... yes, when it wasn’t yet light.”
“Because this child was born at dawn, he’s fortunate—that’s what Grandfather said.”

And what time was my brother born? Tsuneo wondered. How had he come into this world...
It was exactly like staring at that small eye-like spot on an egg yolk.

He suddenly started whistling.
By nature, he was extremely poor at it and had never produced a fluent sound, but in spirit, he intended to blow it cheerfully.
And no matter what anyone might say, he resolved firmly: I will find my brother, I will meet him.

One day, Tsuneo located the Ōtsuka shop.

It was a substantial shop where the second floor and back appeared to be living quarters.
At the rear of the shop, paper goods stood piled in tall stacks.
To the right and front sides, stationery likely meant for elementary school use covered every surface.
On the left side lay various tobaccos and pipes inside a glass case.
At the very center sat a middle-aged woman with a youthful hairstyle, a small cloth spread across her lap as she worked on sewing or similar tasks.
She was a plump woman with long eyelids and a slightly narrow space between her eyebrows and eyes.

Tsuneo passed back and forth in front of it many times.
He intended to go in and ask, "Is Mr. Shigeo..." but found himself increasingly fixated on his feelings as he hesitated to do so.
And yet, no matter how long he waited, there seemed to be no end to it.
Not knowing what to do, he peered into the back of the shop as he passed by.
The moment he did, the woman inside raised her face and glanced in his direction.
He hurriedly fled.
Her eyes, as she turned toward him, became nothing more than a pitch-black gleam—formless and indistinct—yet remained vividly etched in his mind.
At that moment, he thought for the first time that the woman must be Shigeo’s mother.

Two or three days later, Tsuneo went back there once more.
As expected, the long-lidded woman was sitting in the shop, glancing out at the street now and then while talking to a disheveled old woman.
The old woman was sitting at the shop's entrance and showed no sign of leaving anytime soon.
Tsuneo left in disappointment.

It wasn't that he felt awkward at all—he just didn't want the family to notice, Tsuneo kept telling himself, yet somehow he found himself unbearably vexed. As he bit his lip and pondered, it struck him that there was nothing stopping him from making inquiries at the school.

On that Saturday, he slipped out of school an hour early, loitered a bit along the way, timed it for around noon, and entered Toyoyama Middle School.
When he said he wanted to meet Shigeo Onoda from the second year, they made him wait beside the janitor’s office.

From the classroom direction came a sudden flood of students emerging all at once, chattering noisily as they stared fixedly at Tsuneo.
He spun around and began wandering with feigned nonchalance.
Then, while wondering if they even had a reception room... a loud voice suddenly called out from behind.

“I’ve brought Mr. Onoda.”

When he whirled around, startled, a thin student came walking briskly, stopped a few steps ahead, and furrowed his brows slightly as he scrutinized him.
Beneath a high, broad forehead, small eyes peered upward with a glint.

Tsuneo unconsciously doffed his hat lightly and bowed.

“I… am Tsuneo Kawamura.”

Because there was no reaction from the other party, he repeated himself.

"I... wanted to meet you... that's why I came..."

“Do you have business with me?” he asked in a timorous voice.

Tsuneo abruptly grew heated without reason.

“But... but we're brothers, aren't we?”
“You're Father's child too, just like I am.”
“What? You truly know nothing?”
“Your mother used to come to my house... they say that's how you came to be between her and Father...”
“Then your mother married into the Onoda family, so you're called Onoda—but your real father's the same as mine, Kawamura.”
“So...”

“Ah, that Mr. Kawamura?”

Having been addressed so suddenly in this adult manner, Tsuneo stared at his face in blank astonishment.

“Let’s talk while walking outside.”

It was an entirely composed, grown-up tone.
Tsuneo abruptly lost heart and followed Shigeo out through the school gate with his head hung low.
Without speaking a word or glancing back, Shigeo walked along Otowa Street toward the Edogawa River in the direction opposite his own home, appearing thoroughly absorbed in thought.

Shigeo showed neither surprise nor joy, remaining thoughtfully composed—a reaction Tsuneo found strange. As he wondered why this might be... melancholy suddenly enveloped him, bringing tears to his eyes. With the desperate urge one might feel clinging to an older brother, he asked:

"Did you know all along?"

"Huh," Shigeo replied before taking about ten steps.
"And when did you find out?"

“About ten days ago, during Father’s memorial service, I heard it for the first time from Grandmother.”
“Until then, I had no idea at all.”
“When I heard it from Grandmother, I was shocked and suddenly wanted to meet you—I tried going to your house many times, but there was always someone in the shop…”
“Oh—is that your mother?”

Shigeo gave no answer.
After quite some time had passed, he spoke in a tone resembling a soliloquy.

“I’ve known for a long time... but my mother told me I mustn’t meet you.”

“Huh? Why is that?”

“When you grow up, you’ll understand—that’s what they say.”

Tsuneo felt a strangely chilling sensation. The things he had vaguely been apprehensive about until now—wanting to avoid being noticed by his grandparents, mother, and Shigeo’s family—seemed to be coming into hazy focus.

“But if it’s just us, there shouldn’t be a problem, right?”

“I wonder...”

That tone pleased Tsuneo for the first time. He regained his initial vigor and began asking all sorts of questions while also talking about various things himself. He learned that in Shigeo’s household, his father worked as a company clerk, his mother managed the shop, and there were also a twelve-year-old sister and a nine-year-old brother. And he told him about his own household—how Grandfather was always playing Go, Grandmother was constantly ill, and Mother managed everything using two maids. When they compared their ages, Shigeo turned out to be about eleven months younger.

“Hey, why don’t you come to my house?” Tsuneo said.
“If we keep quiet, no one will ever find out.”

Shigeo suddenly clouded his brow.

The two were already walking along the bank of the Edogawa River.
The cherry branches were covered in buds, and here and there some had already bloomed.
The gently flowing, slightly murky current swallowed all shadows of objects, and only its surface glistened with sunlight.

When they reached Ōmagari, Shigeo suddenly stopped and began to speak in a formal tone.

“I must be going now.”

Tsuneo, surprised, tried to persuade him to walk a little longer, but Shigeo kept his eyes fixed on the river’s surface, showing no sign of acquiescing.

“This time, I will either come to your school or send you a letter, so please wait until then.”
“You mustn’t come to me.”

At that moment, a shadow of profound melancholy clouded the area around his eyes.
As he watched, that cloudiness seemed to softly expand until it enveloped his entire tanned face.
Tsuneo, feeling as though he were being cast aside alone, fell silent and nodded repeatedly.

Even so, the two walked together as far as in front of Dentsū-in Temple.
Despite the spring sunlight shining warmly on their backs, the air flowing along the ground was strangely, faintly cold.

“Then this time you’ll definitely either come to me or send a letter, right? Definitely.”

“Yes, I’ll definitely do that.
After I’ve thought it through…”

Shigeo gave a single polite bow and leaped onto the Ōtsuka-bound train.
Tsuneo walked back home to Ueno.

"What could there be to think about...?" Tsuneo wondered.
However, it seemed to him that Shigeo knew more about various things than he did, thought more deeply about them, and was altogether more impressive.
His making melancholy faces and using mature speech might have been because of that.
...But it was an intensely lonely thing—a loneliness that tugged at the heart.

When he returned home, the doctor had just come to visit Grandmother, who had worsened her cold and was bedridden.

“Grandmother, the cherry blossoms are already blooming,” Tsuneo said discontentedly.

From beyond the steam rising from the washbasin atop the hibachi, Grandmother looked back at him with bleary eyes. That appearance somehow felt unfamiliar to Tsuneo.

Tsuneo waited eagerly to meet Shigeo. Shigeo’s broad, high forehead and the small upturned eyes beneath it remained vivid in his mind. Staring at them, they gave off more the impression of an older brother than a younger one.

"But he was still his brother—a gloomy brother..." Tsuneo told himself, feeling a ticklish sensation in the depths of his chest. Along with that, he also felt as if a sense of resolve had formed within himself.

Shigeo did not show his face for quite some time, nor did any letters arrive. Tsuneo grew increasingly restless. And exactly one week later on Saturday, clinging to his last hope, he deliberately lingered behind his friends and exited the school gate to look around—there, in the shadow of a pillar at the tram stop across the way, was a boy pretending to read a book while keeping watch on him. That was Shigeo.

The two exchanged nods with their eyes and began walking along the tramway.

“I’ve thought through various things,” he began, “but since it’s just us two alone, I decided it would be fine to come.”

Everything from his tone to his bearing differed completely from the Shigeo of their previous meeting. Tsuneo was momentarily flustered but felt his heart leap at this forwardness.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve waited.”

“But I needed to consider everything properly,” Shigeo continued. “I wondered if you meant to humiliate me by coming here. I debated consulting Mother. I agonized over whether we were committing some terrible wrong... I turned it all over in my mind.”
“But it amounts to nothing.”
“Since we’re brothers, there can’t possibly be any harm in being close as brothers should.”

“What’s wrong with that?… You’re strange—why do you have to think about so many things like that? It’s a bad habit.”

Shigeo’s forehead clouded slightly for a moment, but soon began shining more cheerfully than before—and with a certain slyness.

“I hear I still have all sorts of bad habits.”

“What kind of habits…?”

“What kind? I don’t really know myself, but Father says so, you see.”

“So Father doesn’t love you, then.”

“No—he does care for me.”

“But that doesn’t make sense.”

“There’s nothing strange about it at all.”

And the two exchanged bewildered looks.

As they walked along talking about such things, they found themselves unsure of where to go, but then suddenly hit upon the idea of visiting the botanical garden.

The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, with children and women playing amid gleeful shrieks.
They passed by them and sat on the lawn among azaleas at the far end of the pond.
Being a south-facing slope, stretching out their legs and staying still made them feel so warm they grew drowsy.
A muggy heat hung about the thickets there, seeming to coax snakes and toads and slugs into lumbering forth from the undergrowth.
In the pond, carp had already surfaced, and girls were tossing fu crackers and senbei rice cakes to them.

“You know,” Tsuneo said, “I always felt like I had siblings somewhere out there. I’d often dream or imagine that somewhere I didn’t know—older brothers, sisters, younger siblings—I might unexpectedly meet them. So it really was true after all. I found you. Maybe we have other brothers or sisters—or even younger siblings—somewhere out there. Don’t you ever feel that way?”

"But Father died young, didn’t he?"

"But you know, Father went to different places for relocation therapy and did all sorts of things."
"And I read in a novel that when you get lung disease, they say your sexual urges get stronger…"

Tsuneo started to speak but suddenly flushed red.
Then, darting his eyes about, he began talking hurriedly.

"So there might still be children out there somewhere."
"Just having the two of us isn’t nearly enough."
"If we tracked them all down and introduced ourselves, that’d be fun, don’t you think?"

“But one person can’t possibly create that many children on his own.”

“He can too! A man alone is sufficient. All animals are like that, I suppose. And he’d sire children all over the place.”

Shigeo suddenly raised his voice.

“It’d be interesting if humans were like that too.”

“And it would be fun.”

Before they knew it, the two were leaning shoulder to shoulder against each other, feeling the warmth of each other’s bodies as they gazed at the girls standing along the edge of the distant pond.
The hazy, gentle spring day was shining down deeply upon the earth.

Tsuneo said abruptly.

“If Father could see us like this, don’t you think he’d be happy?”

“Of course he would—absolutely.”

“I somehow feel like Father must have been an extraordinary person.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why, but he must have been incredible.”
“I love Father.”

“I think I’ve come to… like him too… since meeting you…”
“But my current father—he’s just stubborn and I hate him.”

“If Father were alive, we might have become wonderfully many siblings.”

Shigeo widened his eyes in surprise yet kept his expression unchanged as a smile surfaced at the corners of his mouth.
Tsuneo stared fixedly into the sky's distant reaches.

Tsuneo and Shigeo began visiting each other's schools without prior arrangement, wandering through places like the botanical garden, Ueno Park, and occasionally even Hibiya.

Though his mother grew suspicious at how often he returned home late from school and questioned him repeatedly, Tsuneo would casually string together whatever flimsy excuses came to mind and whistle nonchalantly with perfect composure.
His heart brimmed with radiant joy, as though he had gained a true brother.
Eventually he brought Shigeo into the house itself.
He shortened the Onoda surname by one character and introduced him as a close friend named Noda.
Since Shigeo's Toyoyama Middle School uniform might have given him away, Tsuneo always made him change into traditional Japanese clothes beforehand.
No one ever realized it was Shigeo.

“How about that? It worked out, didn’t it?”

Shigeo nodded with a smile.

The cherry and peach blossoms had scattered, and the trees began to be enveloped in fresh verdure that seemed to sprout forth.
In the garden, bright red azaleas were blooming.
Next to it was a sizable pond.
The two of them, their foreheads glistening with sticky sweat, poked at the large frogs and toads in the pond with the tips of long poles.

Tsuneo brought out photo albums.

“If Grandfather and Grandmother weren’t actually our real grandparents, or if Mother wasn’t our real mother, or if Mother had all sorts of siblings herself – wouldn’t that be wonderfully interesting if we found out all those things at once?”

And the two of them exchanged playful glances and giggled.

“Your forehead resembles Father’s, and your eyes seem like Mother’s,” Tsuneo said.

“Right.
“Father was young and impressive, wasn’t he?”

“That’s right. I don’t remember any of it at all, but…”

When he lined up Father’s photographs from childhood through adulthood and looked at them all at once, he couldn’t help finding it somehow comical.
Grandfather’s and Grandmother’s were also like that.
And that sensation stubbornly clung to a corner of his mind even when interacting with his actual grandparents.

The two of them would sometimes bring out Grandfather’s spare Go board and play at things like Gomoku or imitate playing Go. Grandfather would sometimes lumber over there and teach them the rules of Go. Tsuneo would often be scolded for giggling furtively in the shadows. Shigeo earnestly learned them well. His fingertips were remarkably beautiful and dexterous.

“You have a talent for Go. You could become a fine Go player,” Grandfather said.

“I won’t become a Go player,” Shigeo retorted unhappily.

Then Grandfather, laughing cheerfully, returned to his own room.

But when appearing before Grandmother, Shigeo stiffened strangely.
Even when Tsuneo asked him what was wrong, he couldn't respond.

Grandmother had remained bedridden throughout.
She looked forward to having Tsuneo read books to her.
She didn’t care what books they were.
What was written in them mattered not at all; her sole purpose seemed to lie in hearing Tsuneo’s voice.

“When I was little,” Tsuneo said to Shigeo, “I heard so many fairy tales and ghost stories that this must be my repayment for them.”
Then he lowered his voice.
“Since Father apparently wanted someone to read him books before he died too, Grandmother might not live much longer either.”

“It’s okay, she’s still doing well, isn’t she?”

Shigeo answered as if to dismiss this, but when he went to Grandmother's side, he lowered his face and stiffened. When he read books to her instead of Tsuneo, his voice trembled oddly.

“Thank you.”
“Let’s stop here for now,” Grandmother said, watching Shigeo intently.
“Please continue reading from where we left off next time you come.”

“Yes,” Shigeo answered softly.

“If Tsuneo had a brother like you, how reassuring that would be for him... Please keep being close to him always.”

Tsuneo abruptly raised his face.

“Then can we become brothers?”

“You two…?”

“If Grandmother says so, we can become brothers anytime.”

Once the words were out, Tsuneo himself was startled.
Grandmother trembled her head in tiny shakes, her eyes larger than they had ever seen before, and stared intently at the two boys’ faces.

Shigeo, his face on the verge of tears, suddenly stood up.

“I’ll come again.”

Tsuneo also involuntarily stood up.
And following Shigeo out of Grandmother’s room, he whispered half under his breath.

“It’s okay… Grandmother’s gone senile—she won’t notice a thing.”

At the beginning of May, a violent storm struck.
From the pitch-black low sky, hailstones like bean-sized pellets came pelting down, and when they ceased, the rain and wind gradually gained strength, raging violently all night long.
During the evening, the electric lights went out twice.

From that moment, Grandmother’s condition suddenly worsened.
The doctor came many times a day, and the nurse also came.

On the morning of the third day, as Tsuneo was about to leave for school as usual, he was summoned to his grandfather’s room.
Grandfather and Mother were sitting around the hibachi.
Grandfather was tapping his long pipe against the hibachi’s edge with more force than usual, so Tsuneo sensed this was no ordinary situation.
And when he timidly sat down there, Mother suddenly spoke out.

“Tsuneo-san, that Noda person who often comes to visit our house—isn’t he Shigeo Onoda?”
“Wh... Don’t lie to me—give me a clear answer.”

Tsuneo gradually lowered his head and bit his lip.

“Well? It’s Shigeo-san, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Tsuneo answered.

A brief silence followed.
Grandfather struck his pipe forcefully again.

“Well then, I won’t say anything more. Once school ends today, bring Shigeo-san here immediately.”
“Is that acceptable?”

“Yes.”

“You’d better bring him right away!” Grandfather bellowed in a loud voice.

Tsuneo was so astonished that he couldn’t ask anything and left like a leaf blown away by the wind.

Mother came to see him off to the entrance.

“It’s only Shigeo alone.
Don’t say anything to the people at that house.”

It didn’t make sense to Tsuneo.
How had they found out...? What were they going to do by making him bring Shigeo...? Why was Grandfather so angry...? Was Grandmother’s condition worse? And what did that have to do with Shigeo...?
When he had thought that far, Tsuneo suddenly felt as if he had stepped out into a bright, open place.
They might formally make Shigeo and me proper brothers... And then Shigeo’s high, broad forehead; his anxious, upturned eyes; his beautiful, dexterous fingertips—all of it came vividly floating before my eyes.

Tsuneo couldn’t stay waiting at school.
When the third period ended, he sneaked out and went to Toyoyama Middle School.
And after being made to wait for quite a while beside that familiar janitor’s room, he was finally able to meet Shigeo when noon came.

“It’s serious,” Tsuneo said.
“Grandfather and Mother are telling me to bring you immediately.”
“Grandmother’s illness is serious.”

Shigeo’s complexion changed for a moment.
Then he seemed to have settled into an odd, despairing calm.
He tried to return home as usual, change into a kimono, and come back.

“Your regular clothes are fine.”
“Because they already know it’s you.”

“But it would be too presumptuous to go in everyday clothes just for today.”

Tsuneo didn’t understand what was so presumptuous about it.
However, Shigeo would not listen.

“And Mother said not to let your family know...”

As Tsuneo muttered awkwardly, Shigeo overrode him.

“I already know that.”

The two left the school as they were.
While Shigeo went home to change into a kimono, Tsuneo waited in the distance.

“I told them I might be late tonight because I’m going to see a movie with friends.”

Shigeo said this proudly, but immediately made a melancholy expression like he had on that first day.
As they approached Tsuneo’s house, the shadow over his forehead and eyes grew increasingly darker.
Tsuneo also found himself oddly unable to speak.

Feeling somehow hesitant, they quietly entered the house, and without delay, the two were immediately taken to Grandmother’s sickroom.

In the next room, Grandfather and Uncle were playing Go.
There was something eerily unsettling about it.
When they stood there hesitantly, Grandfather glanced sharply at them and pointed to the inner room with his chin.
Since Grandfather didn’t seem particularly angry, Tsuneo felt somewhat relieved.

Grandmother lay sleeping lightly, having spread a feather-stuffed quilt over two layered futons and covered herself with a blanket and another feather-stuffed quilt on top.
Two nurses and Mother were attending.

When Tsuneo and Shigeo quietly entered and sat down at the entrance, though no one had uttered a word, Grandmother’s closed eyes snapped open. Her eyes were like glass. They stared fixedly at the two boys.
When Mother gave a signal, they edged closer to Grandmother’s bedside. Grandmother moved her lips, but no sound emerged—instead tears streamed from her eyes. At that moment, Shigeo suddenly threw himself onto the tatami and began wailing loudly.

Everything became tangled up.
The nurses’ white uniforms moved here and there.

Shigeo was led out of the room.
Grandfather briefly entered and then left again.
Tsuneo found himself holding Grandmother’s hand.
The sinewy hand would tremble with startled jerks at intervals, then grow still again.
Grandmother closed her eyes and seemed to drift off into a doze.
A nurse tilted her head slightly and watched the situation, then gently took Grandmother’s hand from Tsuneo’s and slipped it back under the blanket.
When he noticed, Mother was nowhere to be seen.

Tsuneo sat perfectly still.
No matter how much time passed, nothing happened.
Everything around fell completely silent.

Tsuneo eventually stood up and left the room.
In the next room, Grandfather had put away the Go board to the side and was talking with Uncle about something.
Tsuneo gave a brief bow and passed through.

In the veranda of the four-and-a-half-mat study, Mother and Shigeo were sitting.
Tsuneo let out a big breath of relief and approached them.

“Grandmother...”

“She seems to have fallen asleep.”

“Again.”

Mother hurried over to Grandmother.
The sight of those vacantly open eyes and mouth lingered strangely in Tsuneo’s mind.

Shigeo remained silent and motionless, his eyes still brimming with tears fixed on the garden ground.

“Did your mother say something?” Tsuneo asked.

“You mustn’t think badly of anyone…”

“Thinking badly... But you don’t think badly of anyone at all, do you?”

Shigeo nodded.

“Isn’t that fine?
...Your mother is just too kind.”

It was a clear, serene day—the kind where one could distinctly see the sun’s path tilting westward.
Immediately ahead, the bright red quince flowers shone like velvet.

“Just as I told you, right?” Tsuneo said after a while.

Shigeo blinked his tear-dried eyes.

“What…”

“What do you mean ‘what’… Everything.”

After that, the two of them fell silent and crouched motionlessly in the sunny spot.
When the veranda had completely fallen into shade, Tsuneo suddenly became aware of his hunger.

“I’m hungry.”

“Yeah, me too,” Shigeo replied.

Tsuneo got some sweet bean buns from the maid.
And as the two were stuffing their cheeks, there came a sense of someone arriving at the entrance, accompanied by footsteps of people going to greet them.
They hurriedly hid the sweet bean buns.
But no one came there.
Lightly hunching their shoulders, they exchanged grins eye to eye and began stuffing their cheeks with the sweet bean buns again.

The one who came was the doctor.
The doctor did not return until evening.
The house felt somehow restless, and that restlessness surfaced within the oppressive silence.
And when Tsuneo and Shigeo were called to the sickroom around six-thirty, Grandmother had already lost consciousness.
At times she would gasp through the phlegm-clogged, rapid breathing, then draw out a long, thin breath and continue sinking deeper into unconsciousness.

The two left the sickroom again and went down to the garden.
In the sky that held a hazy brightness, a single star began to appear.
In the lukewarm air, the scent of fresh greenery drifted.

“Father might have died on an evening like this too,” Tsuneo said.

Shigeo didn’t answer anything, but suddenly gripped Tsuneo’s hand.

“As you said, there might still be other siblings for us.”

“Why don’t we ask Grandmother later?”

“But Grandmother is already…”

And the two of them shuddered involuntarily and hunched their shoulders.